


Don't Go Crying To Your Mama

by tearupthesky



Category: New Girl
Genre: Gen, Humor, Life Advice from Nick Miller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearupthesky/pseuds/tearupthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Career Day in Miss Day's class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go Crying To Your Mama

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tktktk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tktktk/gifts).



> Happy Sitcomathon! I hope you enjoy this silliness. Title from Paramore. Set at some nebulous point in season one.

"Two weeks," Jess says.

Schmidt's stare turns withering. "You're insulting me."

Jess closes her eyes and turns her face toward the ceiling, swallowing her pride and also maybe a scream. "Okay, three weeks. And I will pay for the dry cleaning of one suit and one suede item."

"Are you even trying?" asks Winston.

The scream escapes as a garbled moan. "I will do all of your laundry for a month, with fabric softener and folding. Schmidt gets his dry cleaning. Winston, I will limit my household singing to Wicked, Rent, and Dreamgirls, with the caveat that all singing will immediately stop as soon as Nick enters the room." She puts on her sunniest smile.

They pause to consider this, and Schmidt and Winston shrug.

"Even if you never sing again," Nick says, "even if you let an evil witch suck your voice into a seashell with black magic, I am still not doing Career Day."

He starts to leave but Jess grabs the dangling hood of his sweatshirt. "Think about the kids, Nick. Think about their impressionable little faces, begging for some direction before they find themselves on a one-way path of destruction and regret."

"You literally just described my entire life," says Nick. "I'm doing those kids a favor, this is the most important lesson they could learn. You expect something, you don't get it. Class dismissed, welcome to adulthood, you'll never be happy again."

"He doesn't _not_ have a point," says Winston.

"Aren't parents supposed to do Career Day anyway?" asks Schmidt.

"Traditionally, that's true," says Jess. "But this way nobody gets left out and nobody's feelings get hurt. Some parents can't afford to miss a day of work, some parents just don't care, imagine being that kid who nobody shows up for, watching other kids' parents with their fancy titles talking about how much money they make and how great life is, how would that feel--"

"Stop talking right now and I'll do it," Nick says abruptly, his voice thick.

Jess beams and hugs him, keeping her grip on his hood so he can't squirm out of it. "Thank you, Nick, you're the best, it's going to be so great, you'll see, they're going to love you."

"What am I supposed to tell a bunch of twelve-year-olds about being a bartender?" Nick asks.

"Um." Jess bites her lip, blinking owlishly. "Yeah, about that."

**

"This is low," says Nick, yanking roughly at his tie, his face sweaty. "This is low for me, and I stole a half-eaten buffalo wing off some guy's plate last night when his back was turned."

Jess bats his hand away from the tie. He doesn't have a back-up. "You're practically a lawyer. This is almost not a lie. You could be a lawyer in, like, a year and a half. You're probably already technically a better lawyer than you are a bartender. I'd like to refer you back to the buffalo wing story of one minute ago."

"You're doing a little presentation too, right?" Nick asks. "These kids need options. They should hear about how well being a liar and a manipulator and a crazy person is working out for you."

"Schmidt's going first," Jess says. "I feel like he can cover it."

**

After his self-delivered job description includes the words "synergy," "paradigm," "balling," and "cheddar," a girl in the second row raises her hand and asks what exactly Schmidt actually does all day at work. The question seems to pull him up short.

"You know," he says to the sea of bemused twelve year old faces. "Running numbers. Collating data."

Another girl crinkles her forehead. "So like filing?"

"Exactly like filing," Winston says, patting Schmidt's back.

"So you're like a secretary?" a boy asks.

"Yeah, I'm like a secretary," Schmidt snaps, "and Michelangelo was like a house painter."

"One cool thing about Mr. Schmidt's job," Jess pipes up, "is that he is actually the only male employee in his department, including his boss and his boss's boss. Now, we've talked a little bit about the glass ceiling and the wage gap, so you know that is something of a rarity in the business world."

A girl raises her hand, squinting at Schmidt. "So even with those things working in your favor, you're still just a secretary with lady bosses? Are you really bad at your job?" 

Schmidt turns. "Jessica, these little hooligans need a Scared Straight program, not a Career Day."

"Let's have a big hand for Mr. Schmidt of Associated Strategies," Jess says brightly.

**

"Who has a question for a real life professional model?"

Jess calls on a solemn-faced boy in the front row.

"Don't you feel conflicted about working for an industry that imposes unhealthy physical standards on women?" he asks.

Cece opens her mouth, blinks, and looks helplessly at Jess.

"That's a really good question," Jess says. "I know Ms. Parekh does her best to support campaigns that promote a positive self-image."

A girl lifts her hand halfheartedly and wiggles her fingers. "Yeah," she says at length, wrinkling her nose. "You're actually not even that skinny, though."

Jess puts herself bodily between Cece and the girl's desk. "Unfortunately that's all the time Ms. Parekh has, since she is so beautiful and in demand, so thank you, Ms. Parekh!"

Cece points at the girl, her eyes aflame with warning. _You're lucky, bitch,_ they read. _Next time._

**

"Um," says a freckled and bespectacled boy. "That's not a real place. That's where Doctor Doom lives."

Winston takes a deep, calming breath. "Latvia is a real country," he explains. "It's between Estonia and Lithuania. Doctor Doom lives in Latveria."

He pauses, takes another breath, and turns to Nick and Schmidt.

"Please don't tell any girls I knew that."

**

By the time she introduces Nick, Jess's smile is hurting her cheeks.

"All right, everybody!" she enthuses through clenched teeth. "Last but not least, Mr. Miller is here to tell us all what it's like to be a lawyer. Mr. Miller?" she adds, to Nick, pleadingly.

Something about the set of his brow and his slow, deliberate march to the front of the room makes her brace herself for disappointment.

"What's the point, Jess?" Nick begins, his voice a weary sigh.

Yeah, she thought so.

"These kids aren't impressed with a model or a professional basketball player. They're not impressed with -- look, I don't know what Schmidt does either, but look at that suit. Look how fancy he is. You think they're going to be impressed with a lawyer? You think when I take a long, hard look in the mirror at the end of the day, I'm impressed with what I see? When I was your age, I thought being a lawyer was all Atticus Finch and Clair Huxtable. I thought if I could just make it to law school, man, I would be set. Nobody told me that law school destroys people. Everything you have, the things that make you the person you think you are, your relationships, your hobbies, your personal hygiene, your ability to experience emotions: gone. Your girlfriend, the girl you were going to marry and provide for with your big-time law degree, who you were going to have five rambunctious kids with and dance on the living room stairs to Ray Charles songs, what does she do? She leaves you. Because you're not paying enough attention to her. Because you don't have time to go hold hands in the park and look at butterflies and rainbows because you have to read 400 pages by tomorrow or the last two years and forty thousand dollars were for nothing. Because you--"

"But there are great things about being a lawyer, too," Jess interrupts, loud and approaching furious, not even trying anymore. "Tell them some great things about being a lawyer, Nick."

"Oh, yeah, there are lots of great things about being a lawyer. It's great how the only way you'll be able to pay off your student loans is if you have a rich daddy with his own firm and you didn't need any loans in the first place. It's great getting ulcers and probably prostate cancer from the stress of this job you wanted since you were five years old and nobody showed up at Career Day and told you it didn't actually exist. You know what, screw it. I hate being a lawyer. I hate wearing suits. I hate waking up every day and knowing I have to go to work and be the person law school turned me into. This isn't the life I wanted. I just want a crappy job I don't have to think about, then I want to come home and put on sweatpants and watch TV. Everybody always tells you to get a job doing what you love, right?"

Across the room there is a smattering of stunned nods.

"What they don't tell you is nobody's going to pay you to wear sweatpants and watch TV. Well, that's what I love. And I'm willing to bet if you look inside your heart, some of you love it, too." He makes meaningful eye contact with a chubby kid in a Minecraft t-shirt. "My name is Nick Miller, and I'm here to tell you it's okay to get a job you barely tolerate. In fact, I'll shoot you straight, statistically that's going to be the only avenue open to a lot of you. It's okay to do whatever you can do for eight hours that makes you not actively want to die, then go home and do stuff that makes you happy. Your job doesn't have to define you. Me? I'm not a lawyer. That's not who I am. And none of you have to be anything when you grow up except your own weird self. I hope you find a job that lets you do that. And if the going's rough for a while, maybe think about getting some roommates." Nick finally pauses, surveying the room with a satisfied nod. "That's all for today. Class dismissed."

"Class not dismissed!" Jess says hurriedly, over the sudden swell of applause. "It's 10:45."

Even over the commotion, Nick's pretty sure he can hear a lump in her throat.

**

After the fifth phone call from an indignant parent, Nick sits down across the kitchen table from Jess and folds his hands in supplication. "All right," he says. "You only have to do my laundry for one week." 

"Schmidt!" Jess hollers across the loft. "Please inform Mr. Miller that I'm still not speaking to him!"

"Deliver your own messages!" Schmidt shouts back. "I am not a secretary!"


End file.
